


and the old autumn hymns (will carry you home)

by lechatnoir



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Drabbles and Ficlets, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles and ficlets set in either before, during, or after the events of Days of Future Past. Can be read together or separately.</p><p>And there's a roar in their ears as the war rises up and there's not much they can do except run and hide and wish for old stolen years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. cat's cradle.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me over on tumblr at 'chrysanthemumskies'  
> most, if not all of these little ficlets will be under my 'writings'/ 'michi writes a thing ' tag uwu

They say that the first thing you should do when picking a mantra for yourself is to burn it into your mind. 

(She remembers laughing in at herself in the mirror, the words _‘Mutant and Proud’_ burning down her throat and not even the taste of the spearmint toothpaste can’t seem to wash it out of her mouth.

What’s the use of being a Mutant when no one will care about you , when they shun you aside because you just so happen to be more gifted than them, because they are human and you are a mutant and unlike those humans you can take on one thousand faces and one thousand personas and burn them all in seconds.

perhaps even more. ) 

The second is to never trust anyone.

(she’s got the scars to prove it and it’s etched in her backside, tension coiling like a tiger prepared to lunge forward and devour its kill as she walks amongst her enemies in broad daylight, ears straining to catch the whispers, a wild goose chase that probably won’t end in anything other than the eradication of the mutants if the humans have their way. 

She can’t help but smile and adjust the rim of her hat before walking down the cobblestone street, teeth clenched in quiet anger. 

_Mutant and Proud._

(There’s a faint summer haze of a memory that seeps into her mind, of soft skin and hands clutching hers, and the ghost of a smile with the whisper of a name on the wind. 

That night she dreams of a woman but she cannot remember her name.) 

ii. 

When they meet it is in the collision course of bombs and warfare, with the static radio blasting in their ears and the roar of a plane engine as she herds the small group of mutants up and out of the camps, intercepting files and shipment plans and shifting skins as quickly as the wind - 

_Mutant and Proud . Mutant and Proud._

\- she would repeat to herself, structure rigid and face schooled in that of soldier at war. 

Raven Darkholme and Irene Adler intercept each others’ pathways at approximately 23 :00 in the dead of the night , when Raven sheds her skin again and it isn’t Raven but Mystique who meets Destiny and there’s a ghost of a hymn in her mind. 

"Who are you?" 

comes the question from her lips as her eyes narrow in a glare and lips curl up to form a snarl.

"Destiny." is the one worded reply that she gets from the woman who seems keen on watching her like a cat watches a mouse, a smile on her face. 

"Spare me your bullshit - " she starts, eyes glowing yellow and glaring as she turns her body away, starts to walk away to plan, to think of where to run to next, to let Mutant and Proud roll off of her tongue and flame a fire to burn everything down - and she tells herself she does not care about this woman and her existence. 

" Irene." 

The name sounds familiar, and there’s a quiet hum in her ears as she freezes and it clicks - like the quiet hum of the wind on a chilly winter morning, or waking up after having ice water splashed onto your face.

(it’s as if you’ve been drowning and suddenly you’ve able come up for air and your lungs feel as if they were going to burst) 

"Hello there, Raven." 

iii. 

They don’t meet again for quite some time - the strings never connect and the Sentinal program is put into effect.

And so they run and hide and run like wolves, the familiar sound of siren wails piercing their ears like a secondhand warning before death. 

iv.

it takes about three more times for Irene Adler to manipulate fate’s clues and make it work somehow. 

It takes Raven Darkholme five more times to stop herself from assassinating Bolivar Trask, as the previous four times ended with her dead on a table and her cells utilized for research that would wipe them all out. 

When it finally works - and it does - Raven doesn’t stop herself from latching onto Irene and burying her head in the crook of the other woman’s neck, hands trembling and the air is far too warm but she doesn’t mind it —

Irene on the other hand, lets out a laugh and moves in close to kiss her on the lips. 

They make it work, somehow. 

(In the days that follow they spend the time relearning each other - each scar and injury, each skin and persona. they whisper long into the night, hands intertwined and lazy kisses caressing each other in the early morning hours, and Raven thinks back to the old words that used to burn her - mutant and proud - and how now they were a quiet hymn to her ears. ) 

 

v.

 

"How did you find me , Irene?" 

 

"You know how it is - focus on something that you desire and maybe fate will play into your hands" 

 

"What was it that you desired?" 

 

(And here she doesn’t stop herself from grinning as Irene moved closer, a quiet giddy joy bubbling up in her chest) 

"Well, you know the answer to that, Raven." 

"Do I?" 

Irene silences her with a kiss, and that was worth more than any old answer Raven could have gotten in the first place. 

_end._


	2. salt skin and ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles Xavier is a ghost, and Erik Lehnsherr is a reminder of their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this drabble hasn't been posted anywhere yet so here we go uwu 
> 
> as per usual you can find me over at 'chrysanthemumskies' on tumblr

The days pass by in a hazy fog, accented by tacky scarves haphazardly tossed onto lamps and dusty curtains suddenly appearing on the large windows of the mansion and nothing but the old crooning of the record player and the smell of smoke drifting through the rooms. 

( _There are so many minds out there Erik. Help me guide them, lead them._ ) 

There’s a bitter laugh that escapes Charles’ lips and maybe, just _maybe_ there’s a kernel of hope that he spots in between the smoke that dances in his eyes and the alcohol that drips down his throat like an elixir of liquid luck before he blinks and realizes that he’s been talking with the ghosts again and that there’s no one there in the mansion except for Hank. 

 

(And he knows that Hank is uneasy and awkward around him. Even more so now that the serum has been introduced into their rocky dynamic. )

He thinks of the old chess set that lies forgotten on the table and wonders about moving a piece or two to make the silence a little less lonely, a little less 

(There’s a laugh in his head as he thinks to himself ‘ _Don’t even bother_ ‘ and takes another swing of the alcohol as the record player croons out a song about love lost or some shit like that and he doesn’t care anymore about anything and anyone) 

He’ll lie to himself in the dead of the night when the stars will shine through the curtains and the moonlight will flicker through the windows. It would be at that time when he’ll think of warm lips pressed against his own and wonder where that sense of ‘ _home_ ’ has gone off to and maybe , just maybe, if they hadn’t fuck things up so grandiosely he wouldn’t be here drinking to the deaths of his students and faculty and talking to a ghost of himself. 

(Charles Xavier is gone, they say.) 

And maybe one day, when Logan Howlett comes crashing into the place saying that he’s from the future ( or some bogus shit like that and it’s _too fucking early_ in the morning to be contemplating the future and time travel and the concept of fabric stretching and thinning to allow for time to accommodate to a mutant’s wills and needs) and Charles says that he’ll help find Raven that they devise a plan to break Erik out of prison that Charles thinks of how _pleasant_ it is to say Erik’s name after so long. 

(He’ll snarl and swing a punch that hits the target but not as nicely as it could have and he’ll think to himself that the only reason why he’s in such close proximity with Erik is to ensure the success of this ridiculously bullet hole ridden plan that they had decided was going to somehow _miraculously_ help them all. 

And he’ll remember the snarl that Erik sends his way after he clings to him and tells him why it is that the Charles he knew was gone because Erik _abandoned_ him and took everything away from Charles. 

And maybe it was selfish but that didn’t stop Charles from taking up a game of chess with Erik, only to scoff and mutter something about him being far too lenient in the first place with him – telepathy or not, Charles could tell. ) 

It doesn’t stop Charles from slamming Erik into a wall and pressing sharp tooth kisses to his neck and lips in a familiar frenzied pattern. 

(It’s as if they were trying to say _I’m sorry_ and _It’s been far too long_ but what was really heard was _I can’t forgive you_ and _I don’t expect you to forgive me_ wrapped up in a package of salt kisses and hands trailing across skin and the taste of blood on both of their lips as they memorized each other yet again in the quiet moments of compromise). 

_end_


End file.
